On a stormy night
by BB-GiRl
Summary: Post Movie 2017 - On a stormy night past memories and present anxieties all meld with each rolling thunder


It had been pouring outside for hours now and a thunderstorm was rolling in closer and closer.

Belle had fallen asleep next to him, in what seemed an extremely uncomfortable position, but these days he knew better than to question that.

She looked so peaceful. Pregnancy became her, he found. Sometimes it reminded him of countless Italian paintings he had studied in his classes. Like a _Madonna_ with child, that is how angelic and serene she looked.

He grew restless. That nagging sense that he was bound to be a failure at this took hold.

Needless to say he had been ecstatic when she told him the news but as she grew heavy with their child so did his worries. And though he still showered her with affection and doted on her twice as much as he had before, deep within he felt like he would suffocate with the pressure to be a proper father.

He hated thunderstorms and nights like these. At first he thought they were just harkening back to the night he had been cursed but recently he had remembered more.

His mother had died on a night such as this.

She had been sick. He knew that though no one had ever told him what was wrong with her. All he knew was that one day she had stopped coming down for meals and their nightly ritual of putting him to bed was over.

His father made no comments and the servants were always bustling upstairs and downstairs.

So he snuck into her bedroom once, to see her. To his eyes she seemed somehow shrunken, pale and listless.

He took her hand and for a moment she came to consciousness. She looked at him through feverish eyes and smiled faintly. No comforting words. Her lips seemed parched and he looked for water. He knew that people with fever should drink water. Yet his eyes rested upon a basin with blood.

They had bled her and he felt sick at the thought. In his mind he felt determined to sit by his mother and help nurse her back to health. His mother was the most beautiful and most kind person he knew. She taught him music, dance and all there was to know about roses. His father mocked openly such pursuits.

But then they had found him by her bed and quickly took him away. His father came to his room and said, severely, he was not to visit his mother while she was sick or else he'd be punished.

He tried many times to back and see her but there were guards and doctors and nurses and she didn't live much longer.

On a night like this, with a heavy thunderstorm, he woke up to the echoing thunder and realized there was somewhat of a commotion outside the door.

As he peeked through his door, he saw many crying down the hall and he knew. No one cried like that unless somebody died. He had only seen his mother cry once when she received a letter informing her papa had died.

Without even knowing, and risking serious punishment for being up at this late hour he made his way down the hall quietly.

As the servants realized the boy prince was walking solemnly towards them, they seemed to realize he had just been orphaned and composed themselves to some degree.

The first one was Mrs. Potts. She quickly brushed away her tears and asked him "You can't sleep, little master? Come with me, poppet, we will make a nice cup of warm cocoa."

He remembered taking her hand and going down to the kitchens where all the talk and crying came to a halt as he walked in, hand in hand with Mrs. Potts.

Maestro Cadenza made him practice scales on the kitchen table, playing imaginary keys, while he waited for the hot cocoa and Lumière entertained him with a fable of lightning and thunder being caught in an argument, each one shouting louder than the other.

As he heard his father bellow upstairs, Cogsworth quickly left the kitchen and Mrs. Potts and Madame de Guarderobe took him back to his room.

As he was being tucked in he asked " _Maman_ is gone, isn't she?"

Mrs. Potts sat by him and said "Yes, she is. But don't you worry now, dear. We will all look after you." As she left, Madam de Guarderobe quietly sang him lullabies until he eventually feel asleep.

All these memories disturbed him. The night his mother died his life was changed forever.

He rose, careful not to disturb Belle, and went to the window.

The years that followed were filled with dread, punishment, mockery… No more laughter, no more roses, until that other fateful night. He pondered on the fact that he had imprisoned Maurice for stealing a rose and, in an ironic way, another rose had brought Belle into his life.

That Belle would be a great mother he had no doubts. Him, on the other hand, he dreaded becoming his father.

It had been a stormy night but she had managed to doze off until she woke up with a roaring thunder that reverberated through the walls and made the glasses and chandeliers clink.

Immediately she rolled over to reach for her husband but found him missing, the sheets cold. He had always been uneasy with thunderstorms and the best explanation she ever got out of him was that it reminded him of the night he was cursed.

On many levels he was still traumatized and disturbed by those memories and all the years he was trapped in a form not his own.

He was a charming man, intelligent, witty and with a sympathetic nature. To all outward appearances he was very happy. Only in these dark and gloomy night hours did the old terrors manifest themselves and he became sullen and withdrawn.

She knew out of instinct and experience she would have to find him and cajole him to express whatever it was that was burdening his heart. She had learned that whenever she made him verbalize his worries and fears she could coax him back into the light.

With some struggle she rose from the bed, sank her feet into her slippers and blindly reached for her robe. No good to catch a chill and this was a drafty castle after all.

As new lightning flashed in the sky she immediately saw his form by the far window, still, like a statue. Roaring thunder once more and she had to compose herself for a moment. There was someone else who apparently disliked thunderstorms and was making its displeasure known.

She made her way slowly up to her husband and, as always, paused a few steps short, to give him time to notice her.

Another lightening inundated the room with a flash and he realized she was standing by him.

"I'm sorry, _mon coeur_ , did I wake you?" he asked.

"No" she answered quietly. Heavy thunder echoed.

She had come to soothe him, as always. Long brown hair tucked carelessly behind her ears and a long nightshift that almost hid her pregnancy.

She wavered slightly and reached for her belly. Concern gripped him,

"Are you alright? Do you feel unwell? You should rest, let me take you back to bed…"

"No, it's fine… The little one is upset with all the noise, that's all. Please tell me what is troubling you…"

His eyes shot down immediately. Whatever it was he was ashamed of it. She had come to know many of his ways. She reached out to hold his hand. He gripped hers but still would not look her in the eyes.

"Please tell me. You know you can tell me everything."

"You will think me foolish…" he trailed off, sounding glum.

"My love" she said moving closer and holding his face up to meet her eyes "I have thought you many things: brutish, ill tempered, snobbish…" as he rolled his eyes at her with a disapproving look, she smiled and carried on "…brave, sharp, charming…" his eyes started gleaming with satisfaction "…many things, darling, but never foolish. What troubles you?"

He was about to start speaking and stopped himself. Then made a move to begin again but still he was struggling.

"Trust me" and she made him place his hands on her round stomach "trust us." Somehow that had a catalyst effect on him.

"That's just it, you see. You, the child… I don't know if I can do this, I don't know how to do it."

She willed herself to remain quiet and not to question him but a sudden fear gripped her. What was he talking about?

"How can I be a father, I mean, a good father? Mine was terrible by all accounts… My childhood was a wretched event and I dread to look back on it. I don't know how to do it and I'm afraid I'll fail and I'll let you down… and the child will hate me and you will leave me…"

"By God you do have a flare for the dramatic don't you?"

As usual Belle jarred him of his ramble. Feeling more relieved that she understood what was plaguing him she felt her confidence return.

"I'm serious, Belle".

"I know, that is what worries me. You think I don't worry too that I don't know the first thing about being a mother? You lost your mother but you do remember her, you think it doesn't bother me that I never even met mine. You think I am not concerned that I have no idea how to raise an heir to a throne?"

"You'll be a wonderful mother" he countered.

"How do you know?"

"I just do" as she raised an eyebrow he added "You were raised by a loving and sensible father who taught to be brave, kind and generous. I was raised by an arrogant bully…"

"Are you an arrogant bully?"

"No…"

"Will you promise to be a loving and sensible parent?" he looked at her dubiously "Too vague a promise?" she added "I cannot hold you to being sensible always, I suppose. Will you promise to be a loving father to this child?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then it will have to do. Maybe it has your ill temper and my willfulness, who knows?"

"If it is as stubborn as you we will have our hands full…" he said with a gleam in his eyes.

"I'm not stubborn I'm just very, very…. Determined!" at this he laughed and Belle knew she had conquered the darkness once again. "My love, I'm scared too, and anxious and excited. We'll just have to make do with loving it as much as we can and raising it as best we can."

"I guess so…"

"If anything I'd say we will have to keep all the friends and family from spoiling this child rotten!"

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. Belle always had a way of melting away his fears and whenever darkness loomed she always stepped in as if the Sun itself was shining down on him.

They made their way back to bed where he helped climb up and nestle against the pillows once more. As he joined her and thunder started to move to a further distance she held his hand to her stomach where he felt the flutter of movement as each thunder rolled.

"I don't think the child likes thunderstorms either" he offered with a smile

"Already it takes after you" Belle said, kissing his neck and making herself comfortable in his arms, eyelids feeling heavy with sleep.

With his family enveloped in his arms, he suddenly felt at ease for the first time in months. She was right. He was not his father. He loved his wife, love his child. It would be alright in the end.

And even though he knew that pregnant women were the ones with food cravings, he felt like a cup of hot cocoa would be ideal. But Belle had already fallen asleep and the child had quietened.

In the dark of their room, he dared not wake them. Everything was at peace, even though rain was still pouring and thunder could still be heard at a distance.


End file.
